So Unlike Violet
by Aunt Jo the Grammar Goddess
Summary: Quigley sees some marks on Violet's arm. What happens when she tells him her friend is suicidal? Conclusions are jumped to, and feelings are hurt. Quiglet, and references of past KI. Alternate Ending and Rating change!
1. Why?

"Quigley?" Violet asked.

After a moment, she reached out and touched his shoulder, fearing he hadn't heard her.

He was sitting in a rocking chair in what would have been the baby's room. He was staring off into space, as had been his habit for the past few weeks.

He turned around. "Hi, Violet. Are you ready to go home?" He'd been worrying about Vi a lot lately. Try as she might to hide them, he'd seen the thin red lines on her left arm. Two of them. They were a few inches away from her wrists, thank God. But she was still...

He couldn't say it, couldn't even think the words. It was so unlike Violet. He tried to believe the story he'd concocted in his head. She'd fallen, acquiring some scraps, a few bruises, and a cut or two along the way. That was what happened.

But then again, there was a "lie" in believe.

He didn't know why she did this. He thought about it day in and day out. He decided, right then and there, to ask her when they got home. He had to know. It was slowly killing him.

She saw his expression and asked him if everything was okay. 

_How can it be_, he thought, _when you're_... cutting _yourself?_ His neck muscles, however, seemed to act on their own, moving his head up and down rather than side to side.

"What's up?" he asked. He tried to hold her hand. It was a test of sorts, to see if she was ashamed of her sliced forearm. She gently pulled away from him. Instead, she walked in front of him and sat on his lap, laying her head on his shoulder. His arms automatically went around her.

"I have to talk to you."

"What about?" He noticed she was running her fingers over the marks. Maybe she would confess of her own accord.

"I… um, I was talking with one of my friends the other day." Oh, Lord, Quigley groaned internally. She's using the "friend" line. He almost laughed aloud at the absurdity of it all. Almost.

"Yes?" he encouraged. The wings of a hummingbird would have a hard time keeping up with his pulse. Could she feel it?

"She—um—she told me that… she was really depressed. She also showed me some cuts on her arm." Yes, she was telling him! He wouldn't have to ask her himself! He kissed Violet's forehead softly, but didn't otherwise nudge her to go on. He hoped his silence would encourage her to continue.

He belatedly realized she was now looking at her arm.

"Well, she really likes this guy and he likes her back, but she told me that love might not be enough. She said that sometimes she wants to overdose. She wanted me to tell this guy, but I just don't know how. Then, if she does overdose, she wants be to be there with her when she… does it. I don't know what to do." This last Quigley barely heard.

"Did your friend tell you why?"

A long silence followed. The apartment was quiet for what might have been hours. Finally, Vi sighed and replied, "Her childhood. Her parents died when she was a teenager. Then she was kidnapped. Her life has never really been 'normal'. There are _a lot_ more reasons, but I… I wouldn't feel right talking to her again if I told you."

"Violet, I think you should tell the boyfriend. This is… suicide. It's kind of important. I mean, how would you like it if I up and killed myself and you had no clue why?" He felt a tear drop on his neck.

"Can we go home now? Please?"

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Obituaries:  
Isadora Marie Quagmire.  
She was born on May 2 and was found dead in her apartment on Sept. 27. She was only 19 years of age. The family has not released the cause of death. The funeral will be this Thursday at 6:00 PM at the Vicci, Fitch, and Dark Funeral Home.


	2. The Funeral

Violet and Quigley were in their bedroom, changing their clothes. Tonight was Isadora's funeral and neither particularly wanted to go. Each had their own reason: Quigley would've just liked to stay home and grieve for his sister in the privacy of his own home. He didn't want to see all the people, didn't want to hear "I'm so sorry, Quigley" or "My condolences, Mr. Quagmire." The question he dreaded most, however, was "How did it happen?"

His eyes began to well up with tears. Izzy, his triplet and only sister, had committed suicide. The M.E. had told him that there were painkillers in her stomach and bloodstream at the time of death. Too many. And as if popping a bottle of pills hadn't sealed her fate sufficiently, she'd slit both of her pale, delicate wrists. He knew he wouldn't be able to look at her in a coffin. She was only _nineteen_, for Christ's sake! She was too young to die.

But Violet's reasons were different. Isadora had confided absolutely everything in her. Made her promise not to tell anyone she had a death wish, not even Quigley. Violet had promised her new sister-in-law she wouldn't tell and she hadn't. Not until the very end when Izzy had already made her mind up about when, how, and where she would kill herself. She'd told Violet she wanted her to be with her when she ended her life.

"_Isadora," Violet said uneasily. It was all too much. Izzy had never let on she was so depressed. She was always laughing and telling jokes and smiling._

"Please_, Violet," she said, so close to tears. "I don't want to be alone. Please. You're the only one I can talk to, Vi. You're the only reason I haven't done this before. I thought talking to you might be enough, but it's not. I know you don't understand, and I don't expect you to, but—" She was crying now, tears falling freely down her pale face._

"_Izzy," Violet said, putting her arms around her friend, "I'd have to tell Quigley where I was going. I tell him everything, you know that." Isadora looked up sharply, worry plain as day on her face._

_Violet reassured her that Quigley didn't know. She hadn't told him, he didn't suspect a thing. Isadora's face lit up after a moment. "You could tell him you were going to my apartment. You would be telling the truth. I'm gonna do it here."_

"_When Quigley asked me to marry him," Violet replied, "we agreed that omitting something is still lying. We've only been married for three months, Izzy. I don't want to start out my marriage to your brother by lying about your suicide."_

She realized then that she had been lying to her new husband all along. She had omitted the fact that his sister was suicidal. She had omitted the fact that his sister's wrists always had small cuts on them. And she had omitted the fact that she had once slit her own.

Now, Violet was not suicidal. She had quite simply gotten depressed talking to Isadora one day and wondered why slit wrists attracted her so much. It had hurt like the devil.

She walked over to him and said softly, "We need to leave soon if we're going to make it on time, Quig." He just sat there, crying noiselessly. He had his hands over his face, as if to hide the tears. After a few moments of silence, she sat down on the bed next to him, taking a hand off his face and threading her fingers through his. It felt like holding a bunch of cold, wet sticks.

"I can't go, Vi. I just can't."

"I don't want to either, but she was your sister. She loved you, and you loved her. She would've come to your funeral if you'd have died." She pressed a kiss on his earlobe and rested her chin on his shoulder. She waited, hoping for a response. She got one in the form of a question

"How can you be so calm? You and Izzy were like sisters. You _were_ sisters for a little while. How can you calmly walk out of the house and go to her funeral and not even—?"

"Quigley, I've had plenty of time to grieve for Isadora. I was the one she told when she was going to kill herself. I've cried for her already. D'you remember all those times I came home from Izzy's apartment, crying my eyes out? What about the time I collapsed on the floor because I was crying so hard? Don't you remember I never told you why I was so upset? I told you I couldn't say because I had promised."

"Promised who?" he quoted quietly. He'd asked her that so many times and had never gotten a response from her. "Can we go now, Violet? Please?"


	3. My Boyfriend and Lover

Thanks for all the reviews! twistedbrain! You and Zavi with the "OFW"! Hey, at least it's true...I hope. inside joke

The first person they saw—the only person they saw—when they arrived at the funeral home was Klaus. Almost from head to toe, he was dressed in black. Her brother had, unfortunately, turned into a fair-weather poser. Whatever was the most popular fad at the time, Klaus was wearing or doing it. When those colored contacts had been "cool," he had taken off his glasses and had gotten a pair of them in neon green. When Hacky Sack had been all the rage a few months ago, he'd gone out and bought seven or eight of them. In other words, he did whatever was "in."

Her brother had turned into Esme Squalor.

Right now, Goth rock was in, along with death and heavy metal and the fashions that went along with them. Klaus had let his beautiful, short, curly brown hair grow past his shoulders. The color of his hair was now black with maroon highlights, and he often took a straightener to it. It looked horrible. But it was "in."

Then there was his make-up. White face powder was very in. He reminded Violet of the two women in Olaf's troupe every time he looked at her. _He doesn't put on_ that _much of it_, Violet thought. _Only enough to pale his skin a little_. On top of that, he wore black lipstick and hideous eyeliner. Violet wasn't opposed to eyeliner-wearing men. She had dated one before she and Quigley became closer. But the thing that made Klaus look horrible was the fact that the eyeliner he bought was made in atrocious colors. Tonight, he had on pink. It made his eyes look like a different color. He looked, in a word, demonized. The very realistic-looking vampire teeth "implants" on his canines didn't help his appearance, either.

Violet's eyes traveled from his face to his clothes. She didn't know what was worse: the make-up or the outfit. He was wearing those baggy black jeans from Hot Topic that had millions of pockets and chains on them. Again, Violet wasn't prejudiced against Hot Topic. When she had still been with her ex-boyfriend, she'd often gone into Hot Topic with him, but Klaus had taken it to an extreme. At the very least, he had about three dozen chains attached to various parts of his jeans. They made little clinking noises every time he took a step, announcing his presence. She looked at his MCR T-shirt and groaned. He was wearing a band t-shirt to his sister-in-law's funeral! A band that Izzy had _hated_ no less. Well, at least he had put on a tie, even if it was a blood red and royal purple striped one, she thought sarcastically. She also noticed that he had painted his fingernails black. That was new.

He was standing in front of Isadora's coffin, looking at her. (Violet was secretly hoping he'd cry so that when he wiped his eyes, that hideous pink eyeliner would smear. It would make her day to see Klaus walking around with pink streaks down his face.) Ever since Prufrock Prep, Klaus had had a crush on Isadora. Klaus and Isadora had dated for a while when Violet had still been with Michael. They'd broken up after she'd caught him

with his hand in the cookie jar. Izzy had tried to forgive and forget, but couldn't. The break up had been rough for both of them.

_"Isadora, I'm so sorry." Violet watched as Izzy cried, knowing that she wouldn't accept a hug or anything else meant to be comforting. Izzy didn't take what she viewed as pity too well. "What happened?"_

_Isadora tried to calm down a little and tell Vi the story. "Well, I got a call from one of my friends while I was eating lunch. He told me that he'd seen Klaus with some other girl and his conscience wouldn't let him not tell me. He told me where they were and I went to find him, thinking all the while it must have been someone else because Klaus isn't the cheating type. Well, I get to this place and ask if anyone has seen Klaus. The manager said he'd gone to/iour iapartment with this really hot blonde. So when I get to our apartment, do you know what I find, Vi? I find your brother, my boyfriend and lover, banging this girl in our bed." Isadora had stopped crying now, which almost alarmed Violet. Just catching a cheating boyfriend in the act would be upsetting; Violet hadn't expected her to get through the somewhat rushed tale without a pause to cry. But then again, Izzy had really never been one for tears._

_Isadora hugged her knees. "But I still love him so much. He cheated on me and I love him." Violet could see tears forming in her eyes again. And at that moment, Violet realized that Izzy might want to have Klaus back._

_"Well, can you try forgiving and forgetting? Maybe not the forgetting part," she added quickly, seeing the look she was given from the girl beside her. "But could you _forgive _Klaus?"_

_It took her a long time to respond. "No" was all she said before the tears came again._

Klaus interrupted her flashback. "You look like you could use a hug, Vi," he said, giving her one. Violet hugged him back, thankful for being relieved from looking at his face for a few seconds. Klaus had only recently found out about Violet and Isadora's conversations. Why couldn't she have told him? He wouldn't have let it slip to anyone.

Well, he might have told Quigley or Duncan eventually. Izzy had used to tell him that she couldn't trust him farther than she could throw him. No one did anymore. Maybe that's another reason why she broke up with me, he thought. She wasn't sure I could keep a secret.

He held his sister at arm's length "You gonna be okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. You?" she added sarcastically. She looked up at him, right into those beautiful blue eyes surrounded by that revolting pink eyeliner. If he would buy black, his eyes would look all the more gorgeous. When they had been dating (and before the intense death wish had seized her), Isadora had told Violet that the eyes were what made Klaus look so good. An Izzy-quote came to her mind: "That stupid eyeliner takes all the pretty-ful-nesss away from his eyes."

Klaus looked at Violet. "To be honest, I just wanna go home."

Can you imagine a grown up GothicLiam Aiken with _**pink**_ eyeliner? Gross, is it?


	4. Delicate Wrists

Whomever recognizes the song quotes at the end of this chapter gets a cookie and blue ribbon

Violet and Quigley walked up to Isadora's coffin together, their fingers laced tightly. Quigley was hoping she wouldn't have that look the dead always seemed to have at funerals: when they look stiff and unreal, like they were a very excellent wax carving. Her eyes were closed. Her hands crossed over her rather abundant chest. She seemed so tiny in the huge coffin. They had decided to bury her in her favorite dress: it had a black background with white and the occasional pink roses. She had always looked stunning in that dress and this time was no different. Well, in all honesty, it was different now. This time she would never take it off.

"Vi?" he asked hesitantly. He didn't want to ask her about it. When news of his sister's suicide had reached him, he'd assumed his new wife had been talking about Isadora. But tonight, thoughts and feelings that he'd set aside for a few days had sprung up again with renewed pain. When they'd gotten out of the car, the sleeve of Violet's jacket had fallen back slightly. He'd seen several fresh cuts that were barely scabbed over. These were unquestionably on her wrist.

He looked down at his beautiful, loving (suicidal?) wife when she didn't answer. He felt guilt stab at his heart like a sharp, red-hot knife. Was it something he had done? Something he _hadn't_ done? The knife started twisting, causing more pain every time he thought about her reasons why. He put his arms around her and told himself he'd ask her in the privacy of their home, possibly their bedroom.

As she stood there in his arms, he tried as hard as he could to convince himself he wouldn't chicken out again.

He got his opportunity about half an hour later when Violet lifted her head up off his chest and expressed her wish to go home. He nodded and gave her a long, gentle kiss. "Let me find Duncan and Klaus and tell them we're leaving, okay?" It was Violet's turn to nod. Quigley started to walk away until he felt Violet reach for his hand and miss it. He stopped to let Violet catch up, thinking that somehow he'd known she would want to tag along.

His green eyes searched the crowd, a virtual sea of people who had known Isadora, practically _all_ of VFD, and couldn't find his remaining triplet. Soon giving up, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. A few moments later Duncan answered.

"Hello?" He sounded very annoyed at something.

"Duncan, it's Quigley. Where are you?"

"Well, I _was_ making love but I'm sure not now." That would explain why he'd sounded annoyed.

"You mean you left already?"

"What are you talking about? Left where?"

"I don't know, Duncan," he replied sarcastically. "Your sister's funeral, maybe…?"

There was a long pause at the other end of the line. Finally, "That was tonight, wasn't it?"

"Yep."

Duncan sighed and Quigley thought he heard the sounds of a door slamming. "She left. Jesus Christ, she left. I gotta go, Quig."

"Hey, who is she?"

"You wouldn't know her. Someone I knew from Prufrock Prep. I really gotta go now." He hung up and almost threw the phone on the floor. Duncan had forgotten his only sister's—his triplet's!—funeral!

"C'mon, Violet," he said with a sigh. "Let's go home."

"What about Klaus?" Before Quigley could reply, Klaus came running up to them, asking if he could "crash at your guys' place tonight." He'd lost his key ring, which held, not only the keys to his and Izzy's apartment, but the key to his Ford Mustang as well. Could he please stay?

"…mine and Izzy's apartment…" What? Had Isadora still been living in that apartment with Klaus? Even after he'd cheated on her like that?

"Yeah, sure, Klaus. We're leaving right now."

Silence filled the air in Violet's Chevy Impala. Or would have if Klaus hadn't been listening to some heavy metal band or other in the back seat. Snachets of the lyrics floated up to the front seat: "…I tried to kill the pain…" "…pouring crimson regret…" "…return to me salvation…"


	5. Dreams

"Thanks again, you guys," Klaus said. "I don't know what I would have done if you'd already left." Violet nodded in her brother's general direction. Quigley cam up behind her and put his arms around her. Violet's head came to rest on his shoulder. She was _so_ tired. She was half asleep already. Somewhere in the distance she heard Quigley and Klaus carry on a short conversation about where he was to sleep. Sleep. Such a good thing….

She woke as her husband was laying her on a bed. She stiffened slightly, surprised to be in a different room. She calmed down when she recognized it as her own.

"Violet, go back to bed." He laughed, which was one of the last sounds she heard before sleep laid claim over her. "You realize you feel asleep on your feet when we were in the liv…"

As Quigley pulled on his pajamas, he watched his wife dream. He wondered lazily what she was dreaming about.

Inventing?

Him?

Thinking up new places to cut herself?

As this thought ran through his mind, his gaze turned to her arm. Looking at it laying there across her stomach, he prayed to any God that might exist that she would stop cutting. He'd asked himself so many times why she was doing this. There was no going back to the "She Fell And Accidentally Cut Herself" theory. You don't just fall and slit your left wrist on a razorblade that just _happened_ to be laying around three times in a row. He lifted the covers and snuggled up to his sleeping wife. He loved her so much! He couldn't stand the thought of having to go on without her. He never wanted her to die. It practically killed him to look at the cuts and imagine how much they hurt her.

And then, it hit him like a train smashing through a brick wall: if it hurt him to see her go through pain in general, maybe if she could stop the pain, whatever it might be…

He sat up quickly. **No!** Quigley was horrified! Had he _really_ just hoped that Violet would commit suicide? He'd just told himself he could never be without her. How could he think that and then wish Violet—his Vi!— would kill herself? No, suicide is one of the most _stupid_ things you could do.

_But she's hurting right now, Quigley. And you hurt if your precious Violet hurts, right? If she didn't hurt anymore, would you_

**Yes! **he argued with the voice in the back of his mind. **Of course! I wouldn't be with her anymore, so of course I would hurt**

_Yes, but only for a little while; what's the old saying? Time heals all wounds, is it? Besides, you'd find someone else. It's not like you're forbidden to fall in love again. I mean, look at Kit. Dewey's been dead for nearly five years now and she's moved on. She's gotten married and is having a baby. Well, she lost the baby, but that's not the point. Besides, your precious Vi loves Dun—_

**She does not! She's told me that a thousand times! She loves me!**

_She's_ married _to you. And she's slitting her wrists. Would she be suicidal if she was with Duncan?_

He looked at his sleeping wife. Would she be? Was she even suicidal to begin with?

_Um, yes, you idiot! Why else would there be cuts all up and d—_

_**BANG!**_

There was no mistaking that sound. But they didn't own a gun. They were too dangerous. Especially with a five year old in the house. Then how did…?

"What happened?" Violet asked, sleepily yet with concern. He looked down at her. She'd been shocked into consciousness by the shot. She was now fully awake and scared out of her wits. He kissed her quickly and muttered something to the effect of locking the door, staying away from the windows, and getting the baseball bat.

He ran as quickly and as quietly as he could to Sunny's room. He knocked on the door twice. He opened Sunny's door and found her on the other side of her bed. He put a finger to his lips and held out his arms. "Be very quiet and be very still, Sunny," he whispered, barely hearing himself. "Hold your breathe if you have to, okay?" He felt her nod against his shoulder. He walked back to his room, a bit faster this time. He knocked twice and Violet opened the door cautiously. He rushed in and laid Sunny on the bed. He heard his Vi lock the door.

_Good girl, Vi,_ he thought. _Good girl._


	6. So Unlike Violet

Violet walked over to the bed and sat down next to him. Sunny instantly pulled herself onto her sister's lap. Violet wrapped her arms around her sister protectively. They sat there in silence, pure frightened silence, for what seemed like hours. All of a sudden, Sunny let out a gasp and sat straight up. "What about Klaus?" she asked, fear creeping into her voice. Quigley sighed before answering.

"Klaus is a big boy, Sunny. He can take care of himself." He leaned down and kissed her forehead lightly. "Besides," he went on quietly, "do you _really_ want me to leave you and Vi alone when there might be someone in the house?"

She answered without hesitation. "Yes. Klaus might be hurt!"

Violet came to his rescue. "Sunny, Quigley doesn't want to leave us alone because they—whoever they are—could come in here and take you away, kidnap you, like Count Olaf did when we lived with him; remember how scary that was?" Sunny thought for a moment and nodded. There were tears beginning to form in her eyes. She, like her sister, still had dreams, nightmares, about Olaf. The contents of those nightmares were entirely different. Violet hoped they were, at least, although you could never tell with Olaf...

Sunny began to cry then. "But Klaus…they c-could have hur-hurt him. W-what if he needs to-to go to the h-hospital?" She looked up at him, worry written plain on her small face. A child of five, Quigley thought to himself, shouldn't have to remember the time she was kidnapped and locked in a tiny birdcage hanging from a tower. He silently cursed Olaf for everything he'd done to Vi.

_Not only Vi, you idiot, but Klaus and Sunny, too. Maybe he beat them_ the Voice whispered at him. He hated how it sounded. He frowned as it continued.

_Maybe that's why she's slitting her wrists. Maybe he—_

**Didn't you just tell me that I'm the reason she cuts? That she doesn't love me and wants to be with Duncan?**

_Well, I've abandoned that theory. It doesn't seem likely. I mean you're a much better lover that your brother, right?_

**So, you're saying that she's staying with me…for sex? The sex she hasn't exactly been in the mood for lately, you mean?**

_The word "lover," as Klaus could tell you if you'd go get him, has three meanings_ the Voice lectured. _First meaning is "someone who has a deep interest in or obsession with something." Second, "Someone you love or who loves you." Third, "someone with whom you have a s—"_

**I get the point! Which did you mean, then?** It scared him to think about how eagerly he awaited the answer.

"Please, Quigley," Vi asked, her query bordering on pleading, "Go check on Klaus. She's not going to stop crying if you don't." He looked at Sunny, sitting on her sister's lap, crying quietly. She glared at him, for deliberately scaring more by not getting her poor, innocent brother. (For the record, Klaus was neither poor nor _innocent_, take it how you will.) He flinched a little. The only other person he'd known her to glare at in that fashion was Olaf.

A five year old was comparing him to a murderer.

He let out an exasperated sound and said, "Fine, Sunny, I'll go if you really want me to." She nodded fiercely against Violet's chest. He handed his wife the baseball bat, hugged her, and would have kissed her had Sunny not literally pushed him towards the door. She was strong.

He walked down the hallway, his footsteps making no noise whatsoever, when he came to the guest bedroom. He opened the door, and—

And there lied Klaus, sleeping peacefully, his back turned towards the door. He knew Klaus was a sound sleeper, but, could _anyone_ sleep through the sound of gunfire? When he would have turned to go back to his own bedroom, something told him to have a closer look at Klaus. _Things are not what they appear, Quigley._

"If Lemony Snicket ever dares to shows his face around here," he said aloud, to no one in particular, "I'll paper cut him to death with one of those stupid books."

He walked over to the bed and repeated Klaus's name several times. He shook him Klaus's shoulder, thinking maybe he should come into the other room for safety. _Sunny has you paranoid now, huh?_ the Voice asked. He ignored it.

"Klaus?" he asked. "Klaus? Wake up, your sisters are worr—" Then Klaus fell on his back, and Quigley saw all the blood.

They shot him.

He blinked and looked at his brother-in-law's dead face and saw the gun next to his pillow, a folded piece of paper under it. Common sense told him to leave the gun and paper for the forensic people, but for some reason, he picked it up, and began to read the brief suicide letter. It sounded too much like Klaus.

"Vi and Sunny,

I'm sorry. Please know that I truly am sorry. But I had to. I had to be with my Izzy again. Neither of you know what it feels like to be the reason for the suicide of the person you love with all your heart."

"Then why did you cheat on her?"

"Violet, if you're reading this, I know you've been cutting. I felt the scrapes on your wrist when I gave you a hug at the funeral. I never thought you would ever be the kind of person to cut. Your expression was different—the same as Isadora's before she…yeah. At first, I thought it was pure and simple grief. Now, I know differently.

Listen, you've got to stop, for Sunny's sake. For Quigley's. Tell him, Violet, he deserves to know. He _is_ your husband, after all. And Quigley, if you're the one reading this, confront her _now_. Help her in any way she needs, I know you will. She'll cut too deep one day if you don't, I'm sure of that.

Tell Sunny I love her and not to cry. I'm happy now.

Klaus Baude—"

He sat up in bed, breathing heavily. He looked around frantically. He took inventory of his surroundings He was in his room. It was snowing outside. His heart was beating a million miles an hour. He felt someone stir beside him.

"Quig," she said sleepily, "what's wrong? Are you okay?" She gasped softly, sitting up a bit straighter. "Oh my god, is the baby alright?"

_It was a dream. Only a dream. A stupid nightmare! Thank God. Only a dream._

"What was only a stupid nightmare, sweetheart?" She asked from across the room. He looked up to find her holding a baby.

_Your baby_, he told himself when reality set back in. _She's your baby, Quigley, and you are 23 years old._

**Why was I only 19 in the Dream?**

_You and Violet have been married for three years. Your sister is still alive and still dating Klaus. Friday is their second anniversary. Buy them something nice. They have a dog named Cocoa. It's completely white. You're allergic to it. Your daughter's na—_

"She's reaching for you, Daddy," Violet interrupted. He took his daughter, finishing his thought. _Her name is Josie Beatrice Quagmire. She is 14 months old. She can walk and say a few words._

As if to emphasize his thoughts, she smiled and screamed, "Daddy! Daddy, Daddy, DADDY!" She buried her head into his shoulder and snuggled against him. Her fingers clawed into his thin shirt. "Daddy," she repeated contently. He put his arms around his daughter. "Josie," he said quietly, hoping she would go back to sleep. "Josie, Josie, JOSIE." He looked at the clock as Violet got back in bed. It was 5:57. The alarm was set for six.

"Guess going back to sleep is out of the question, huh?" he asked, disappointment written plain on his face. He was still rather sleepy and nothing would please him more than a call from his boss telling him the snow had blocked the entrance to the building. Ah, that would be heaven. Getting to stay home and play in the snow with his small family….

_**BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!**_ the alarm screamed. He looked at Violet, who was running to the alarm, then to his daughter, who opened her eyes slightly, put her hands over her ears, and curled up on her father's chest as best she could. **_BEEP! BE—!_**

"Thank you, Vi. No, it's okay, Josie," he said to his wailing daughter. "The Noise went away. Mommy made it go away. Shhhh, it's okay." He got up and took her to the window. The crying ceased instantly when she saw the snow. She had been born in mid- November and had loved snow since birth. "If you go back to sleep for a little while, when the sun comes out, Mommy and Daddy will take you out to play in the snow."

His daughter considered the proposition and finally said, "Pomith?" He'd noticed she'd been using that word a lot.

"Yes, I promise." She started motioning to her crib. He pulled the blanket over her and she obediently shut her eyes tightly. He laughed softly and kissed her forehead. He and Vi were almost out of the room when a small voice reminded, "Daddy pomith."

He and Vi were eating a breakfast of cereal, toast, and coffee when she brought it up again.

"Sweetheart, what did you mean when you kept repeating 'It's just a stupid nightmare'?"

He avoided a direct answer. "I had a nightmare; what did you think I meant?"

"Well, what was it about? You looked like you'd seen a ghost or something."

He sighed and waited as long as he could to answer her. "I had a dream about Izzy… dying. We went to her funeral and… It seemed iso/i real, that's all. It scared me." That was the truth, he told himself. Izzy had died in his dream and they had gone to her funeral. He wasn't lying—It ihad/i scared him.

Violet saw through it. "What else happened? Funerals aren't that scary." She took his hand in hers and kissed it. Encouragement?

Although it was such a small gesture, it reminded him that she wouldn't be so persistent if she didn't really care. She loved him. If something scared him, she'd chase it away. Or distract with him until it didn't matter anymore. He loved her. He could tell her anything, right? There were few, if any, secrets between them. Why should a dream—a stupid nightmare—stop the trust between them? It's not like he was smoking weed on the side or cheating on her. It was a dream.

He told her absolutely everything that had happened in the Dream. He looked up at her when he was done and expected to see a look of disbelief or disappointment. Instead she was _smiling_.

And then she started laughing.

After a while, so did he. When he'd gotten it out in the open, it sounded rather like a bad soap opera. They heard Josie crying and started walking to their room. "You know what I was thinking the whole time, though?" he asked as he picked up his daughter (who kept chattering about "pomithes" and snow). His wife shook her head, muttering a faint "what?" He licked his lips and said, "I just kept thinking that it was…"

"Was what?"

"So unlike Violet."


	7. Alternate Ending

**Finally! After a long wait, you guys finally get the alternate ending you've been waiting for! (You can show your love by reviewing.)**

* * *

The next day was much calmer than the last. Everyone at least _tried_ to keep from their worries. For the most part, no one spoke of the incident (when they spoke at all) and went on with their lives as best as they could.

The previous night, the loud bang had come from an intruder with a gun. The idiots had shot the alarm system. Quigley had said the thieves were either too stupid to know anyone was home or too stupid to know how to spot an alarm until it was too late.

Quigley had made sure Klaus was okay, and they'd gone downstairs to see who was in their house. There were two men, dressed in the stereotypical all black, trying to get the big-screen TV. When they'd bought it, four deliverymen, Quigley, Klaus, and Violet could barely even lift it. They were amateurs, obviously.

But they'd had guns.

The thieves had eventually given up on the television. They decided to take the stereo system. Only later that night had they realized there were CDs in the player. Quigley knew every kindergartener was able to shoot a gun, so he let them take it. They could get another.

After Violet and Sunny had calmed down, everyone tried to sleep, but no one could. Especially Violet. Soon after the house became quiet again, Violet had felt her husband's lips on her neck; a moment later, hands appeared. She protested quietly, saying she was tired. That had been her excuse lately—she was tired. Always tired. There were times when she wanted him so badly, but was afraid he would see the scars.

The scars. They would always be there. They might fade, but they would always be there, to haunt her, to torture her, in the future. Quigley would notice them eventually. He wasn't stupid. He was going to touch or see them sooner or later.

&&&

Violet woke up in the middle of the night. She'd had a nightmare, _the_ nightmare, again. The same night she'd been having for weeks now. She was always in the same place—the bathroom floor—crying, screaming for Quigley to please forgive her, she was sorry. He found her, somehow, although she usually locked the door. Something strange had happened during this dream: someone else was in the bathroom with her, holding her arm and telling her to dig the razorblade deeper into her arm, even though her husband was standing not two feet away from her. No matter how much she focused on his face, she could never tell who it was. She got the distinct feeling that it was someone she knew, someone who had hurt her. Then, it was suddenly morning, and her husband was handing her divorce papers.

She knew it was only a dream—just a stupid nightmare—but it scared the living daylights out of her. It was an irrational fear that would probably never be realized, but there was still the slight possibility—that was all she needed. Just the thought of being without him nearly killed her.

Unfortunately, the urge to take a razorblade to her wrist overpowered everything else she felt. It overpowered her common sense most of all. It was like a drug to her—she was addicted to the cool metal slicing into her flesh. She didn't smoke, steal, or cheat on her husband. This was her vice.

After a few moments, she found both mind and body begging for her drug. She looked up at her sleeping husband (_…for better or for worse…_her mind whispered). She kissed him lightly, telling him she loved him. Near irrational tears, she flung back the sheets and walked out of the room.

Finally, Violet reached the bathroom door. Dismayed, she was about to go back when she saw that the light was on, but the door was left ajar. The last one inside must have neglected to turn them off.

Violet stepped inside as quietly as she could, opening the door of the medicine cabinet. It was quite crowded after cold season, with leftover cough syrup and some over-the-counter medications inside. She pushed them all out of the way. A box of band-aids was squeezed into the corner. She lifted it up, revealing a small metal strip. Violet took it out quickly, and was still careful not to touch the sharp edges. The irony of the razorblade's hiding place was not lost on her.

Seating herself on the counter, she leaned back and rolled up her sleeve. She hadn't noticed how much damage had accumulated until now. It was difficult to find an unscathed area to start, and the razorblade went over at least three scars on the angle at which it ended. There was no doubting that it was painful; but that, in a sense, was a good thing.

The feeling was all too familiar. It played out just like every other time. It stung at first, but the pain soon faded into pleasure. The blood ran cold on her skin. When held up to her knees, it trickled slowly downward. Upon its stop at the crease of her elbow, Violet examined the path left behind. It gave the array of red streaks an extra shade, making the damage seem greater than it was.

But this wasn't enough, not in the slightest. Violet's drug of choice was staring her down. She wasn't about to let the fix pass her by. She wanted to indulge; to feel like she hadn't for an eternity. And with a touch of the blade, she did just that.

Of course, all exultant things have their side effects. The incision hurt so much, Violet nearly let out a cry once she finished. The razor fell next to a bar of soap so she could keep a squeeze on her wrist. The motion numbed the area just a bit; but her arm still shook as the bleeding worsened. She looked down again, realizing why that slice had hurt more than the rest. It literally matched the length of her forearm, and crossed sides at the wrist. As was always the case, the effect was slow in coming, but once it was there…

A staggering high wasn't enough to describe it. Everything that had troubled her melted away; it was just her and the pain. Nothing else mattered. She didn't care what happened from here on, although she was positive she would start to when the euphoria wore off. For now, it was best to enjoy the moment. To sit silently at the counter, letting the steady flow of red trickle off her fingers and into the porcelain sink.

But eventually it _did_ wear off. It took a while, although Violet didn't know how long. At the moment, she was focused on getting one more fix tonight. That was all she needed.

The blade was poised across her arm. Violet hesitated, although she didn't know why. She listened intently for something. She heard small sounds coming from far away. She tried to identify them, but couldn't until it was too late.

"Hello?" a small voice asked, opening the door slowly. "Oh, hi, Violet. I'm sorry, I left the light on and—are you okay?" Sunny craned her neck to see what was wrong as her older sister turned her back.

"I'm fine, Sunny. Go back to bed." She felt the blood soak the front of her night shirt, ruining it. She also noticed blood on her pajama pants and socks. She had no idea how it had gotten on her socks.

"No, you're not! You're bleeding!"

"I'll be okay, Sunny, I just—"

"I gotta go tell Quigley you're hurt!"

"_No!_ Sunny, I'm—" but by the time she turned around, Sunny was gone.

Violet swore more in the following thirty seconds than she had ever done in her life. She turned on the tap and tried to wash the partly-dried blood off of her arm. The anti-bacterial soap didn't do much for the pain in her arm. No matter how much blood came off her arm, more seeped out of the wounds.

Moments later, Sunny's voice said, "See! She's hurt. Violet's bleeding." Violet slowly turned to face her half-sleeping husband (_…for better or for worse…_). She closed her eyes and almost cried. Did he have to find out this way?

"It's okay, Sunny. Violet will be fine. Go back to sleep, baby."

"But—"

Quigley turned his head slightly. "I told you to go to bed, Sunny Baudelaire." Sunny walked out of the room, quietly crying at her guardian's harshness. Violet felt her eyes open, and quickly looked down at her arm. It was still bleeding.

Violet had a hard time meeting his eyes. When she scraped up enough courage to do so, she was frightened at the expression in his eyes. It was almost hate, certainly anger. She stepped back a little, and licked her lips.

Finally, he spoke. "Where is that roll of gauze?"

"In the medicine cabinet," she answered meekly.

"Put your arm over the sink," he commanded. "You're dripping blood everywhere." She looked around herself at his statement. It was true. Not only had she dripped blood on her clothes, but a few drops had gotten on the floor mats.

He opened the door of the medicine cabinet and got out the necessary supplies. He sat them on the counter and took her arm in his hands. She allowed herself to watch his reactions to the many scars and half-healed wounds. He ran his thumb down part of the latest additions, disgust plain on his face. He cleaned her arm off again and bandaged it. He held it in his hands for a long time. He ran his fingers over the warming material, almost caressing it. After a long moment, he dropped it. He looked in her eyes again. The anger-like emotion in his eyes was still there. His eyes fell momentarily, and when he looked up again, the anger had faded into something else, something Violet knew well.

Misery.

"Why?" he asked simply.

She couldn't look at him anymore. Her eyes dropped and she turned slightly so he wasn't the only thing in view. She concentrated on breathing, tried to speak, but couldn't. She tried to tell him, but her body wouldn't cooperate. After a long silence, she got out, "It's…hard to explain."

"Can you try? For me?"

She almost broke down at his words. Barely holding back her tears, she replied, "I don't know. I guess it's just a way to forget everything that's happening. I realize I can't _permanently_ forget, but anything is better than being brought down every second of every day. I mean, how many people can honestly say they have caused someone's death? I'll have to live with that the rest of my life. Izzy would be alive right now if I had said something—Klaus would be happy—you would be happy—"

"Who said I wasn't?"

"You can't honestly tell me you're happy knowing your wife slits her wrists. The look on your face when you saw me was all I needed." She turned her back to him.

"I'm sorry about that. I was…surprised. I didn't think you'd let someone catch you in the act. I interrupted you; go on." She licked her lips.

"It's just," she sighed, "when I cut myself I feel like I don't need to cry. I don't have to worry about anything, I don't have to think about anything but the pain in my arm. Like I said, it makes me forget."

After a few beats of silence he whispered, "I just don't understand. I don't understand why you cut yourself in order to forget. I don't understand why you didn't come and talk to me about it all. If you were feeling this bad—"

"Have you ever been the cause of someone's death? Have you ever watched someone suffer and not done a thing about it? No, you haven't. You would never understand what it—"

"But I could try. No, I've never caused anyone's death, but neither have you. Izzy killed herself because she felt it was the right thing to do in her situation. I don't know what that might have been, but it must have been bad. Izzy killed herself because, for lack of prettier words, she wanted to do it, not because you made her."

"I know, but if I had said something—"

"If she was as determined as you make it sound, she would have then borrowed a gun and shot herself. I'm not saying it's a good thing she's dead or that suicide is the answer to problems—it's not—but if you'd have said something, she wouldn't have talked to you anymore. She wouldn't have trusted you anymore. It's not—"

"Have you ever been high?" she asked suddenly.

He looked at her askance. "No. Why?"

"That's another thing you won't understand, I suppose."

"You mean…you get high off, what exactly? The sight of the blood?"

"The pain. The adrenaline rush. It's the easiest high you can get. You don't have to buy illegal drugs, just something sharp. You can hide it by wearing long sleeves. You're not harming anyone but yourself." She closed her eyes and sighed. "Unfortunately, it's just as addicting as a real drug."

"Sounds rough," he said quietly.

"You have no idea." She sighed. "Some nights, the urge is so…overwhelming. I've tried to stop—I've tried to find some other way, but nothing works—but when I feel the need to cut myself, I can't think about anything or concentrate until I do. All I can focus on is bringing something sharp across my arm." She smiled slightly. "It's really quite distracting."

After a moment of silence, he whispered, "Don't you know how dangerous this is? What if Sunny hadn't have come and got me? What if you'd lost consciousness and bled to death in the night? You could have killed yourself, Violet. Is that what you want?"

Finally, he'd said it. He asked her the question he'd been dying to ask since the funeral. But, now that he'd said it, he wished he hadn't. Her whole expression changed, went from near tears to startled amazement. Before he could take it back, she said, "You think…I want to die?"

"Isn't that usually the reason people slit their wrists?"

"I don't…I'm not…" As hard as she tried to say the words, she found, much to her dismay, that she couldn't. She'd never liked lying to Quigley.

_It's not a lie!_ her mind screamed at her. No, she had plenty of reason to live. She had Sunny, Klaus, and, most important, Quigley. In contrast, she also had plenty of reasons to die. Her conversation with her husband had proved that beyond doubt. Causing someone's death, and the guilt it brought with it…

Somehow, she couldn't believe what she kept telling herself.

"Violet," he said, interrupting her thoughts, "I love you. You have no idea how much I love—"

"How can you?" she asked. "How can you love someone who slits their wrists? How can you love someone who killed your sister? How—"

"I love you, Violet Emily Quagmire," Quigley repeated firmly. "I always have and I always will. The wedding vows say 'for better or for worse,' right? We've had better times in the past and these," he held up her bandaged arm, "are the worse ones. It'll be okay." Seeing tears in her eyes, he held his arms out and whispered, "Come here, Violet." She slid off of the counter, took two steps towards him, and wrapped her arms around his neck, crying softly into his shoulder. Quigley bent his head and kissed his wife's neck. He heard her start to speak and then stop. He made an encouraging noise and soon after she spoke.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"You don't have to—"

"I know, but I…I have something else to tell you. Something I really shouldn't have kept from you."

He stepped back slightly so he could see her face. "I'm listening."

"It's about what happened at Heimlich Hospital. You've read Lemony's books and I've told you what they couldn't, but I kept this…thing from you, because I thought it would hurt you."

"I didn't even _know_ you then," he replied, confused. "Well, I'd never met you. I wasn't in love with you. Why would it hurt me?"

"You're in love with me now, though."

"What happened, Violet?" She turned and resumed her seat on the edge of the counter. When she didn't say anything, he went on, assuring her he wouldn't get angry with her or anything, it was in the past.

After a long silence, he heard, "Olaf…" She spoke so softly, he couldn't make out the rest.

"What?"

"Olaf…raped me."

"What?" he repeated.

"He…well, I don't…." she stuttered. "You'd better hear it from the beginning."

"When Esme and Olaf kidnapped me, they told me what was going to happen. I can still hear their voices in my head. I can hear his tell me how stupid I am and how no one will be able to save me. They talked as if I wasn't in the room, about how I'd fall asleep and never wake up, about how my last memories would be fear and hatred. When Esme started getting tired, Olaf sent her away and said he could handle things by himself; I wasn't hard to watch over.

"When Esme was finally persuaded to leave, Olaf walked over to me and told me he didn't agree in wasting something so precious. 'Violet, my dear,' he whispered, 'do you not understand?' He pulled me out the chair and threw me on the floor. I thank God that Fernald came in the room when he did.

"He asked Olaf about the anesthetic and how much to use and so on and so forth. It was weird hearing about it, knowing they were going to use it on me. It was a good ten minutes before he left us alone again. Olaf practically had to shove him out the door. He'd made it clear during the conversation that what Olaf was going to do to me wasn't right. They shouldn't kill me. He wouldn't kill me. Olaf threatened him until he agreed.

"When Fernald left, Olaf walked over to where he'd thrown me and told me he'd didn't want to hurt me. I can still hear that infuriating voice in my head at night. 'I don't want to hurt you, Violet. I won't have to if you'll—'" Her voice wavered with anger. She went on. "He wanted me to just…give it up to him. He told me he was going to get it one way or the other. I told him no. I kept telling him no. He kept asking and I kept telling him no." He saw two tears fall down her face. He was surprised it had taken them so long to fall. He felt a tear drip down his own face.

"I got up and ran for the door. It was locked from the outside. I tried everything to get away from him, but I couldn't. I pinned me against the wall and said, 'I don't want to hurt you, Violet. I want to make you feel wonderful. Don't make me do this, Violet dear.' He pulled away from me and opened a drawer in the desk. It was the only piece of furniture besides the chair. He opened a drawer and took out a syringe and a bottle. I don't know exactly what was in it, but I knew it wasn't good for me.

"But there was nowhere for me to go. I could try to run, but the room was tiny; he'd catch me eventually. It was hopeless. I don't know what came over me—I let him walk over to me, I let him inject whatever it was in the bottle into my arm." She stopped to compose herself and continued. "I suppose it was some sort of anesthetic. I passed out with him looking down at me, smiling that dirty, evil smile of his. I don't know what he did to me, if anything, but something told me he'd raped me. I don't know. And that makes it all the more frightening: I don't know what happened, I'll _never_ know what really happened. He's dead."

The tears were flowing freely by the time she'd finished. Quigley didn't know what to say. The only thing that popped into his mind was to hold her and let her cry. Let her know he was there for her whenever she needed him. Taking two steps forward, he wrapped his arm around his sobbing wife, picked her up, and carried her to their bedroom. He laid the both of them down on their bed and held her while she wept. It occurred to him that this could be the first time she'd gotten a chance to cry about it. She'd have never done this around her siblings, as hopeless as their situation had been at the time, and she was around at least one of them at all times. The only time he knew of that she'd been away from both siblings was when she climbed Mount Fraught with him. She hadn't cried then either, but instead had received her first kiss from the boy she would later marry. She had seemed rather happy at that moment.

When she finished purging the years of held-back emotions, she sighed and wiggled closer to her husband. "Thank you," she whispered into his chest. "I love you." She looked up at him and gave him a small, fleeting kiss. She relaxed against him and fell into a surprisingly peaceful sleep.

He laid beside her, watching her sleep. When he knew she was dreaming, he whispered, "I love you, too, Violet" and allowed himself to sleep as well.


End file.
